Team Building
by Yuushi-chan
Summary: A pre-cannon series detailing the time Havoc and Breda shared at Eastern Academy and beyond. Will most likely be expanded to include other members of Team Mustang in the future.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist.

 **Team Building**

 **Setting:** March, 1906, Eastern Military Academy, East City

Jean Havoc had said goodbye to his parents at the entrance to the Academy early that morning, his older sister, Eloise, had refused to see him off. His father had shaken his hand and patted him on the shoulder. His mother on the other hand had wept the entire time. When she hugged him goodbye, he had to reassure her that he would write to her and would see her during family visit days in a few months. Running a hand through is shaggy blonde hair, Jean picked up his duffle filled with his personal clothing, a carton of cigarettes, and s few other personal things. He marched past the entry gates and felt a wave of relief wash over him. He had promised himself three years ago that he wouldn't take over the General Store from his father. When he explained six months ago that he was going to join the military, the yelling match that ensued in his family home was nearly unbearable. His sister, who had no intention of taking over the general store either, was furious that she would have to step up, and she subsequently stopped talking to him. After a week, his mother couldn't look at him without tears coming to her eyes, and his father's jaw would tighten whenever Jean entered the room. He had finally brought his father around to the idea after nearly a month, but his mother would never accept his decision. She swallowed her words, but Jean never missed the worry and sadness in her eyes whenever she looked at him.

Jean walked up to the main desk and looked around to see the other men checking in. Most were young, under the age of twenty, but there were a few who looked like they were in their mid to upper twenties. He scanned the room, his eyes stopping every time he saw a woman. By the looks of it, out of every ten men who were enlisting, one woman was as well. Jean couldn't help the smirk that tugged at his lips, plenty of pretty women to become his girlfriend.

"Next," said a soldier at the desk.

Jean stepped forward. The soldier looked tired and annoyed. His face was weathered, but Jean could tell he was younger than he looked. The soldier turned his eyes on Jean, looking him up and down before speaking.

"Name?"

"Jean Havoc."

"Hmm," the soldier rifled through papers. He grabbed a few different folders and rifled through them quickly. "Havoc, you said?"

"Yeah," Jean cleared his throat hoping this wouldn't take much longer.

The soldier leaned over to his comrade sitting next to him and whispered something. Jean felt his eye twitch. _How hard could it be to find his paperwork?_

"Yeah, I've got it right here," the other soldier said passing a file.

"Right, Havoc," he said flipping through the papers in the file.

"Yes, Sir," Jean said through gritted teeth.

"You're being assigned to squadron Delta Three Hundred, this is your identification number, don't lose it," the soldier said passing an ID card over the desk. "Take this ticket and present it to the staff in the first room down the west hall," the soldier pointed to the hall directly behind the desk. "This is to collect your uniforms and training gear."

"Thanks," Jean said taking the yellow paper. He gave a slight nod and walked toward the aforementioned hallway. He had to slide past a few new recruits, accidentally bumping into a shorter, rounder young man with reddish brown hair. "Sorry," he said patting the shorter guy on the shoulder.

Jean continued on until he found the room he needed. The first soldier he met held out his hand to take the yellow paper. He scanned the information, looked up at Jean, turned around to face a couple of pretty military ladies, and barked out uniform sizes and gear requests. A few moments later, Havoc had two training uniforms, a working uniform, a set of dress blues, and a pack heavy with gear thrust at him. He tried to keep up accepting the gear from the soldier, having to adjust his duffle on this shoulder when nearly dropped the gear pack, not expecting it to be so heavy.

"Jeez, what's in this thing?" Havoc asked pulling it up onto his forearm.

"Everything you need during your time here at the academy. Any lost items will require a fee to replace," the soldier explained quickly. "Training uniforms will be worn every morning for PT and field exercises. You will wear your working uniform for all duties on base that are not the required part of your training. Dress Blues are only to be worn once you have graduated the academy. Welcome to the military, Cadet."

"Yeah, thanks," Havoc gave a curt nod, his arms full of gear.

"You are to report to the meeting hall located in the west wing of this building in one hour. You can head to the dormitories just outside this building to find your room assignment and drop your gear," an officer at the front of the room ordered all the cadets within earshot. All Jean could think at that moment was how badly he needed a smoke.

He followed the masses toward the dormitories and waited in yet another group. He hoped this time the staff could find his paperwork right away. When it was his turn to check in he was happy enough to speak with the petite brunette sitting behind the desk. Havoc could tell she was still quite young, her heart-shaped face turned up at him.

"Name please?" she asked in a high pitched voice.

"Jean Havoc," he said giving her his best grin. Her cheeks flushed slightly and Havoc thought he might have a chance with this one, especially if she was always stationed at the dormitories.

"Cadet Havoc," she said pulling his file out of a crate labeled "E-H." "It looks like you'll be in D-201 with one other Cadet," she showed him a map of the building which was shaped like a cross. Each arm of the building was a different sector labeled A, B, C, or D. She slid a packet toward him across the desk, "This is your key, please don't lose it. It's a hassle to have another one made."

"Say, I do lose it," Havoc smiled. "Can I ask you to let me into my room?"

She looked him dead on, "No, Master Sergeant Lionell and Major Whitmoor are the only personnel who have a master key to the dormitories. I don't work the dormitory desk most days."

Havoc's grin faltered when he heard that. He nodded and grabbed the packet containing regulation materials, paperwork, and his dormitory key. Finding the nearest stairwell, he opened the door and climbed to the second floor. When he entered the hallway he noted four military personnel monitoring the floor. Luckily Havoc had chosen the correct stairwell as there was a giant D painted on the wall to signal which wing of the building he was in. One of the officers, who was directing Cadets, stopped Havoc to look at his packet. He pointed him down the correct hallway and Havoc nodded heading toward his room. He unlocked the door and found that his roommate had not been there yet. The metal door closed with a heavy clang and Havoc dropped his new gear on the bed to the left side of the room. He noted there were no windows and groaned realizing that meant he wouldn't be able to smoke. Havoc took a deep breath, but felt his hands begin to shake despite his best efforts. He needed nicotine and he needed it now.

Without another thought, Jean grabbed his ID card and dorm key shoving them in the front left pocket of his denim jeans. He then patted his back right pocket feeling the pack of cigarettes and then his front right pocket to make sure he had a lighter. He turned quickly, tore open the heavy door and fought against the crowd of young Cadets making their way through the stairwell.

At the ripe age of seventeen, Heymans Breda would be one of the youngest new recruits. Colonel Robert Faux had pulled some strings to get him into the Academy a year early. The military made exceptions, but only if there was a really good reason. Having grown up in the South Area of Amestris he really should have been applying to the Southern Military Academy, but the Colonel had pulled a few strings in that regard as well. With the heavy fighting going on with Aerugo, he hadn't wanted Heymans to get deployed straight into battle after graduating. Not like it was guaranteed he wouldn't be deployed there anyway, but the odds were less likely.

Colonel Faux had escorted him by train from their hometown of Monet to East City. Having grown up under the Colonel's care he had a strong admiration for the military. He owed a great debt to that man and hoped he could repay him someday, but for now all he could do was train hard and graduate with honors from the Academy.

"Manny," Robert spoke. "I won't step into the building with you. It'll bring too much attention."

"Thank you, Sir," he replied. "Thank you for everything."

"Of course," the colonel smiled and placed his hand on the young man's shoulder. "Don't let anyone give you any crap." He squeezed his shoulder and let his hand drop to his side again.

Heymans took a deep breath anxious to begin. After taking a moment to collect himself he put out his hand. The colonel took it firmly in his and gave it a quick shake.

"Good luck, son," Robert gave a curt nod before turning away and walking in the opposite direction of the academy building.

Heymans squared his shoulders, threw his personal bad over his shoulder, and walked up the stone steps to enter the building. His first thought seeing the inside was that there were way too many people gathered in one place. Nearly everyone inside was shoulder to shoulder as they slowly moved forward to check in at the two desks being operated by military personnel. After a good fifteen minutes he had finally made his way up to one of the desks. Just as he was about to step up, a tall and fairly muscular blonde man walked straight into him. Before he could say anything the blonde man had patted his shoulder and offered his apologies all without even looking him in the face. Heymans clenched his jaw and stepped up to the desk.

"Name?" the middle-aged black haired man asked gruffly. By one look at his uniform, Heymans could tell this man was a 2nd Lieutenant.

"Breda, Heymans," he answered. The Lieutenant nodded, flipped through two folders quickly and pulled a small stack of paperwork out.

"Here's your identification card," the Lieutenant said passing it over the desk to him. "You'll need to know your ID number like the back of your hand, try to memorize it." The Lieutenant then handed him a yellow slip of paper, "Take this ticket to the personnel in the first room down the west hallway behind me here to collect your uniforms and training gear. You've been assigned to squadron Delta Three Hundred led by Staff Sergeant Erasmus Connors."

Heymans nodded and took the proffered slip. Before he could make his way to the next step of registration, the Lieutenant stopped him.

"Is this birth date a mistake?" he asked.

"No, Sir, August 1888 was the year I was born," Heymans answered.

"How were you accepted a year early?" he asked.

"A personal referral from Colonel Robert Faux, Sir," Heymans answered honestly.

He didn't miss the slight widening of the Lieutenant's eyes, "What is your connection to the Colonel?"

"He is my adoptive father," he answered holding in an aggravated breath. This was exactly the type of attention he wanted to avoid. The Colonel was well known for his leadership and actions on both the Southern and Western battlefronts with Aerugo and Creta respectively. A connection like that garnered a lot of attention, but Heymans hoped he could keep it under wraps. It helped that he didn't share the colonel's surname. "It's all there on my paperwork, Sir."

The Lieutenant nodded curtly, "Welcome to the military, Cadet."

"Thank you, Sir," Heymans said stepping away from the desk and pushing through the crowd toward the hallway. Nothing else of consequence happened while receiving his gear or checking into the dormitories. He had received his key from a frustrated blonde sergeant who barely looked at him the entire time he explained the layout of the building. Heymans readjusted his gear in his arms, found the stairwell for the D-wing, and climbed his way to the second floor. Halfway up the steps, the same tall blonde man who had run into him at the check in desk, bumped into him again. This time, he didn't offer his apologies, as he pushed through the rest of the cadets climbing the stairs, and exited the stairwell in a hurry. Heymans frowned at the lack of manners as he continued his way up the stairwell. Upon entering the hallway, an officer directing cadets stopped him long enough to look at his dorm assignment and point him down the correct hallway. Heymans found his dorm, unlocked the door and noticed someone else's gear had already been dropped on one of the beds. He first dropped his gear bag on the unclaimed bed and then placed his uniforms neatly to the left. He sat on his bed and took a deep breath. He still had almost an hour before he had to report to the meeting hall. He took the time to look around the small room; concrete walls painted white, no window, one light fixture on the ceiling providing limited light, two single beds raised one foot off the ground to provide storage space, and two wardrobes on either side of the metal door. He looked at his roommate's bed. The gear bag sat on the floor, while the uniforms were scattered over the mattress messily. Heymans shook his head at the lack of respect for the uniforms. He was used to sharing a room with the colonel's oldest son back in Monet, but they were a military family. They were raised to respect not only their own possessions, but also anything that did not belong to them. He hoped that his roommate at least had the common decency to respect the items that didn't belong to him.

Heymans sighed and pulled his gear bag into his lap. He unbuttoned the clasps and flipped open the top. Inside he found a set of sheets, standard issue sweats, a second set of PT clothing, a towel, a metal cup, plate and bowl, as well as metal cutlery, a survival knife, compass, toothbrush, comb, and razor. Standing up, he gently dropped the bag on the floor and removed his stacked uniforms from the mattress. He pulled the sheet set out and began fixing the bed. Just as he was finishing tucking the top sheet under the foot of the mattress, he heard a key in the lock turning, followed by the metal door swinging open to reveal his roommate. Heymans inwardly groaned realizing it was the tall blonde guy who had run into him twice already that day.

The guy looked him over quickly before smirking and holding out his hand, "I'm Jean Havoc."

Heymans straightened his back and gripped his proffered hand, "Heymans Breda."

Heymans noted he smelled of cigarette smoke. He wrinkled his nose at the sharp smell and he was able to deduce that he had probably just finished a cigarette.

"Hey, where'd you find the sheets?" Havoc asked.

"In my gear bag," Heymans answered as he bent to retrieve his uniforms and stacked them on top of the nicely made bed.

Jean nodded, walked the few steps to his own bed and shoved everything off the mattress. He crouched to open his gear bag and retrieve the sheet set.

"You should really respect your uniforms," Heymans said off-handedly.

Jean glanced up at him from his position on the floor and let out a short breath of air. He ignored Heymans after that and made up his own bed, although it didn't look nearly as crisp as Heymans's. Jean tossed his uniforms back on the mattress and sat heavily on the bed with his back against the wall. Heymans was busying himself with his dormitory packet while Jean watched him picking at the skin around his thumb nail.

"You come from a military family?" Jean finally asked.

Without looking up Heymans responded, "Yeah. You grow up out here in the East?"

"Sure did," Jean answered. "Pops wanted me to take over the family business, but I wanted somethin' more, ya know? Didn't want to get stuck in a dead end town."

Heymans nodded and finally looked up at his roommate. He really looked him over now that he had the chance. The guy was lean, but muscular, with blue eyes set in a handsome face framed by bright blonde shaggy hair. What stood out the most to Heymans though was slight goatee on his chin and his chapped lips. He noticed the way he was picking at the skin around his nails. This guy was going to suffer when he got his cigarettes taken away on the first day of PT.

"Why'd you join up?" Jean asked barely noticing the way Heymans was studying him. "Your dad force you?"

"No," he answered. "It was my decision."

Jean snorted, "My parents were none too thrilled when I told them I was enlisting. Dad couldn't look at me for a week and Mom still can't look at me without crying. My sister hasn't talked to me in three months."

"Are you hoping to prove something?" Heymans asked suspecting the answer was yes.

"Yeah," Jean said peeling the skin he'd been picking at off his thumb and dropping it on bed. "I want to show my parents, and my whole town really, that I can amount to something more than just a general store clerk. I don't pride myself on being smart by any means, but if I can work hard, I know I can be an asset to my country."

Heymans was torn between dislike and admiration for the guy's honesty. He understood the need to prove oneself. All his life he'd been trying to prove that he wasn't his father and that he'd never become him either. The man was a sadistic ass and he swore to himself he would never treat those around him with disdain or disgust the way his father had. He inwardly sighed at that thought and knew he had to give this guy a chance.

"I know what you mean," Heymans replied. "About proving yourself."

Jean nodded and looked at the ceiling. His forehead scrunched and then he lowered his face to look at Heymans again. "When are we supposed to go to that meeting thing?"

Heymans looked at the small clock hanging on the wall opposite the metal door. It had been forty-five minutes since he arrived in the dorm room.

"In about ten minutes," he answered. "You want to head over?"

"Yeah, sure," Jean nodded and the two exited the room together, both checking they had their keys before letting the door close all the way.

The moment they were outside, Jean popped a cigarette in his mouth and flicked the lighter twice before bringing it up to ignite the end of the stick. Heymans watched him for a moment as the blonde took what looked like a long satisfied drag. He held it in for a moment before exhaling a large cloud of smoke. Heymans had the misfortune of walking straight into that cloud and couldn't stop the cough that clawed its way out of his throat.

"Sorry," Jean mumbled, the cigarette held at the corner of his mouth. The next time he blew out smoke he blew away from him.

"You know they're going to take those away from you tomorrow morning, right?" Heymans looked at the taller man.

"Yeah," Jean answered sounding defeated. "Not sure how I'm gonna do going cold turkey."

"The CO's will keep us occupied enough you won't have time to think, let alone, crave a cigarette."

"Never underestimate addiction."

Heymans stayed quiet after that statement. His father was an addict, an alcoholic. He never once underestimated the destruction that addiction caused.

They reached the main academy building and Jean pulled the butt out of his mouth, putting it out on the sole of his shoe. He tossed the butt out away from him and followed his roommate inside. Plenty of other new recruits had also returned to the building. They entered the meeting hall with the rest of the crowd and found two seats in the middle of the room. There was a small stage at the front of the room where a single microphone stand was placed. The majority of the room was filled with many rows of chairs, about a third of which were already occupied by new cadets.

Heymans surveyed the crowd and saw a wide range of body types. He knew not to underestimate someone's physique. He was the perfect example. He knew he looked out of shape, but he was just big boned like his father. He was actually very strong. His stamina, though, was another issue entirely. He could sprint short distances, but anything more than a mile and his lungs and muscles were burning. He was pretty sure Jean didn't have great stamina either. Smokers often had awful lung capacity and ran out of breath sooner than most, depending on how long they had been smoking. He noticed there was a considerable amount of women who had enlisted. Glancing around the packed room, he estimated about twenty percent of the new recruits were female.

Jean leaned toward him slightly and spoke lowly, "How many of these guys do you think are gonna quit after a week?"

"With any luck, the majority will pass basic," Heymans said glancing in his roommate's direction.

Jean smirked, "What? You can't tell me looking around this room, you think every one of these guys and gals are going to cut it."

Heymans frowned, "We're all in the same boat."

Jean laughed at that, "Yeah, I guess so."

Two military personnel had taken the stage, one man and one woman. Heymans could see staff sergeants lining the walls of the room. The man on stage walked to the microphone and cleared his throat, gaining the room's attention.

"Welcome, cadets," he spoke with a gruff, raspy voice. "It's refreshing to see so many of you here today. I commend you on your ambitions to serve your country. My name is Brigadier General Booker and I am overseeing the Eastern Academy program. I am here to assess each of you and make a final decision on your usefulness to Amestris. During your six weeks of basic, only seventy-five percent of you will continue on." Hushed concern and whispers flooded the room. "Quiet, quiet. With so many of you here, the likelihood of more than this percentage passing is slim."

"Damn," Jean whispered under his breath. "Guess they're gonna be putting us through hell."

"You expected this to be easy?" Heymans whispered back.

"Captain Whitaker will be giving you a rundown of the next six weeks," the general said gesturing to the woman on stage with him.

Captain Whitaker was an attractive woman with dark hair pulled into a bun and sharp brown eyes. She stepped up to the microphone and spoke in an airy high pitched voice.

"Cadets," she started. "In these six weeks you will be stripped of all personal belongings. You are only allotted the gear distributed to you. You will rise when your staff sergeant calls for formation, you will eat in the given time for meals, you will be responsible for yourself, your dormitory, and any duties you are assigned. Failure to comply will result in your immediate dismissal. At first light tomorrow you will be expected to fall into formation in your training uniforms and participate in your first physical assessment. Failure to meet basic standards will result in your immediate dismissal." The tension in the room was so thick it could be cut with a knife. "On day two you will be expected to complete a combat assessment. This includes ability to handle a firearm and ability to perform hand-to-hand combat. Failure to meet basic standards will result in your immediate dismissal. Curfew is twenty-one hundred hours. Lights out is twenty-two hundred hours. Anyone found to be violating these hours will be given one warning, any additional violations will result in your immediate dismissal. You will address all superior officers and personnel as Sir or Ma'am and your fellow peers as Cadet. Free hours will only be earned after three weeks of basic. Any violations incurred while on or off base will result in your immediate dismissal. We do not tolerate indecent behavior."

Captain Whitaker stepped away from the microphone looking like the devil herself. Every cadet was uneasy from her speech. The general stepped up again. He cleared his throat, clearly trying to hide his own uneasiness at the Captains words.

"Cadets, I will now be introducing your staff sergeants. When you hear your squad assignment you are to meet with your staff sergeant." The general pulled a small list out of his breast pocket. "Staff Sergeant Harold Kinzler, Squad Alpha One Hundred," approximately twenty individuals rose and followed in the direction of a tall young man with light brown hair in a crew cut. "Staff Sergeant Monica Shale, Alpha Two Hundred," again approximately twenty individuals rose and followed their CO.

"What squad are you in?" Jean asked quietly.

"Delta Three Hundred," Heymans answered.

"Well, at least I'll know one person," Jean muttered.

"Typically, dorm mates are in the same squad."

Jean nodded, "I guess that makes sense."

"I think the entire second floor D-wing of our dorms will be in our squad," Heymans clarified.

Jean nodded again and his eyes followed the pretty brunette who had been sitting in from of him when she got up after squad Charlie Two Hundred had been called.

"You think there will be any women in our squad?" Jean asked eyeing the few women seated around them.

"With the high amount of women enlisted, it's a good bet to say at least one or two will be assigned to every squad."

Jean grinned. He rubbed his hands on the tops of his thighs and turned back to observing the woman still seated in the room.

"Even though, it wasn't spoken, fraternization is an offense that gets you dismissed," Heymans said in a low voice. "Once you're working in the field, you can be court martialed for it."

Jean waved his hand in an act of dismissal, "What harm is there in flirting and looking?"

"A lot, if someone files a complaint," Heymans frowned.

Jean snorted, but as he was about to snap back, Brigadier General Booker called Delta Three Hundred. They both stood and followed Staff Sergeant Erasmus Connors, a man of average height who looked to be in his early thirties. He had short dark brown hair flecked with early onset gray. Heymans noticed their squad was slightly larger than the others, comprised of about thirty individuals. He was surprised to see five women. His gaze travelled to Jean, who was eyeing each of the ladies wolfishly. He couldn't help but roll his eyes. This idiot was going to be thrown out for indecent comments in their first week!

"Cadets," Connors stated with a crisp tenor. "I am Staff Sergeant Connors. You will fall into formation at oh five hundred tomorrow morning. Beds will be made and personal items will be handed over. You will have five minutes to use the head, and ten minutes in the mess hall. I do suggest you don't eat much, the physical assessment and following training may cause you to vomit."

A couple of the women eyed the rest of the cadets wearily.

"Cadets," Connors addressed the two women. "Is something the matter?"

One shook her head, while the other spoke, "It's just that…that's not much time at all."

Connors chuckled, "You will not be afforded the luxury of time. This is not a retreat, this is the military."

A few of the men snickered at the comment, but Connors turned on them, too. "Cadets!" Everyone snapped to attention. "There will be no teasing, no flirting, no ill comments made behind each other's backs. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Sir!" the resounding chorus rang.

"The only way you will survive is by depending on your own strength and leaning on each other. In battle, you have no other choice than to depend on the soldier standing next to you. Here at the academy you will learn the meaning of exhaustion, hunger, and teamwork. You either cut it or you don't." Connors looked around at the cadets giving him their full attention. "You are dismissed!"

"Sir!" they said in unison again. The group of cadets filed out of the meeting place as one. Heymans cracked his knuckles and rolled his neck once they were outside again. Jean popped a cigarette in his mouth and lit it with a few clicks of his lighter.

"You know those are gonna kill you," Heymans said offhandedly.

Jean chuckled, "Like I haven't heard that before."

They walked back to the dorms in silence, each thinking over the next few days and how important it was that they pass the assessments. Jean had gotten into plenty of fist fights growing up, always trying to prove his strength, and after working in the general store and moving cargo, he had the muscles to back him up. He had never handled a firearm, though, and worried he wouldn't be competent enough to pass the assessment.

"Hey, you ever handled a gun before?" Jean asked Heymans, still sucking on the filter though his cigarette had burned out.

"Yeah, my father taught me basic safety with a revolver," the shorter man answered.

"I've never even touched a gun," Jean admitted.

"Don't worry, they won't give you a gun and say shoot. They'll send us to a basic firearms course first." Heymans opened the door to the D-wing stairwell and looked back at his roommate who tossed his filter on the ground followed him closely.

"Good, cause I don't know the first thing about guns," he sighed.

Heymans reached their room first and fished his key out of the pocket to open the door. He plopped down on his bed and grabbed his personal pack. He knew everything would be confiscated in the morning, but he could at least enjoy it for now. He pulled a pack of cards from the bag and thought that he better get to know his roommate and give him a chance.

"Do you play?" he asked waving the pack of cards at Jean.

"Poker, Black Jack, you name it," he grinned and sat down at the foot of Heymans's bed.

Heymans shuffled the deck while they discussed what to play. Jean chose a simple game of rummy to start. The cards were dealt and the two young men played quietly for a few turns feeling out each other's strategies.

"So, does your sister have something against the military?" Heymans broke the silence.

"Huh?" Jean asked his brow furrowing. "Why do you ask that?"

"You said your sister stopped talking to you a few months ago."

Jean snorted, "Nah, she's just pissed that she has to take over the family business. She had it in her head that she could just ditch us and never look back." He laid down a four of a kind with eights.

"And you're looking to do the same?" Heymans laid down a small straight jack through ace in spades.

Jean sighed, "I dunno. I like my parents; we just don't always get along. Eloise, though," he made a displeased noise in the back of his throat. "She thinks she's better than everyone. Every time she opens her mouth, it's to make some demeaning comment." He picked up another card from the deck and huffed. "What about you? Got any siblings?"

Heymans smirked, "Yeah. I've got a few."

Jean waited for more of an answer before he looked up. "That's it? No more information?"

Heymans chuckled, "Fine. I've got two sisters and a brother. They're a crazy bunch."

Jean nodded for a moment, eyeing his card options before picking up a card from the stack. "You the oldest?"

"Nah," Breda shook his head lightly. "One of my sisters is younger than me, the other two are older."

"They both in the military?" Jean asked genuinely curious.

"My brother is," Breda exhaled sharply as he laid down small straight in hearts from three to six. "He's finishing out his second year at the Southern Academy. My sister left for West City the moment she turned eighteen."

Jean nodded, "She wanted to get out of town?"

"Yeah, not much in way of work in Monet," he paused to assess his cards again. "Mostly labor work, namely lumber yards or manufacturing. Unless you join the military or move to one of the main cities, you're stuck." He sighed laying down a three of a kind in sevens.

"I think that's why my sister wanted to get out, too," Jean said laying down a three of a kind in queens. "We've got the family general store; else it's farming of working at one of the local cafes. Eloise got a scholarship to some conservatory in Central. Guess she saw it as her way out, but our parents refused to let her go."

"The art school or the music school?" Heymans asked. Jean didn't answer right away. When he looked up he saw the blonde man staring at him quizzically. "What?"

"How do you know about those artsy schools?" Jean asked making Heymans frown slightly, his cheeks heating from his judgmental eye.

"My younger sister mentioned it when she talked about going to university," Heymans said.

Jean snorted, "Suuure."

Heymans rolled his eyes and said sarcastically, "Yeah, cause I'm the type who paints and sings."

Jean let out a bark of a laugh. "Hey, looks can be deceiving!" He laid down a three of a kind in aces.

Heymans chuckled and shook his head as they continued to play their card game in companionable silence. Jean was the first one to go out laying down a small straight in clubs from nine to queen, and discarding, leaving Heymans with two kings, a jack, a four, and a two in his hand. Heymans lost one hundred thirty to forty, but it was just a tactic he used to get his new roommate to talk. Making others feel at ease to chat friendly like had been a talent he'd learned from his adoptive father as a way to glean information. It hadn't let him down yet. In the small amount of time it had taken for them to play a round of cards, he'd learned that this guy had an older sister with an artistic talent, both parents living along with their own business, he came from a medium sized farming town in the east, and the guy had a decent sense of humor. Of course he'd given similar information back, but the blonde didn't seem to be the tactician Heymans was. He knew that sometimes you had to lose a battle to win the war. Jean being a smoker was also something he could use to his advantage. The guy would be hurting after a day or two of losing the nicotine, and he figured he be able to learn a bit more about the guy's ambitions if he leveraged his addiction.

Jean was shuffling the cards getting ready to deal a second hand. They played another round of rummy, complete with friendly banter over lighter topics like women, food, women, sports, women. It seemed Jean didn't really have a type, he just liked the ladies. Heymans brought up his first girlfriend and Jean demanded a detailed description of the girl, going starry-eyed when Heymans relented and finally detailed her looks. As it turned out, Jean had already been quite the ladies' man, although from how he described it, he could "hook 'em but never reel 'em in." Heymans laughed heartily at that. He wouldn't deny the guy was handsome, but the idea that women were intelligent and not just pretty faces seemed to have been lost on him.

Just as Jean was stretching and getting ready to head out for a smoke, there was a knock on their door. Heymans stood as Jean pulled the door open to reveal three other recruits in their unit. They all looked to be about around the same height, taller than Heymans, but a few inches shorter than Jean. The guy in the middle, with buzzed brown hair and gray eyes, introduced himself as James Blanchard. He in turn introduced the two men flanking him, both blonde and blue eyed men, as Harold "Harry" Hammond and Nathaniel Steem. Jean and Heymans introduced themselves in return.

"We were just about to head to the mess hall to grab some dinner, figured we would introduce ourselves to everyone on our floor. You guys want to join us?" James asked.

"Sure, we were about to head there ourselves," Jean said. "I'll just smoke on the way." He turned his head toward his roommate. "You coming?"

Heymans nodded and they exited their room with their new acquaintances.

 **A/N:** I'm still not sure if I want to make this into a whole Team Mustang pre-cannon series or just Havoc and Breda, but I'm quite proud of this beginning. It's definitely one of the longest chapters I've ever written for a story, coming in at little less than 14 pages. I've had this backstory idea stuck in my head for some time and will continue to explore it within my other story _Something's Gotta Give_ , which I've been neglecting for a long time as I only have the first chapter posted. Anyone who has read my Breda one-shot titled _Family Has Its Limits_ will recognize the OC character of Robert Faux. In working on this chapter and future chapters, I've been reading other works by various authors on Fanfiction to get some ideas and see their takes on pre-cannon character writing, particularly **Janieshi, Bookwrm389,** and **1stTimeCaller**.

Any constructive criticism is greatly appreciated!

Yuushi-chan


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